A writer's notes on family
I found this in my drafts folder the other day:
TO: dvho <dvho>
SUBJECT: Vbbbqqwrerr55^%##%*^
POOPNHGGBNV. Gubhn. Mckgxtxiftudfifjifyocyogocgkfi;
8tuztcutbihllzsjwieixksnznsikepkkmammnnaaapewq
I’m thinking Nora is running some sort of preschool pyramid scheme and using my account to send spam. I hope she cuts me in on some of the profits.
Nora bellers from her bedroom. I just tucked her in for the night. Ben walks down the hallway to check on her. She says she has to go potty and she wants me to take her.
“Mom’s asleep,” says Ben.
“No, she’s not,” Nora responds in a lilt.
“You’re a big kid now. If you need to go potty, you can go by yourself.” Then, somehow, he leaves the room without igniting a a toddler firestorm.
A moment later, we hear sounds from the bathroom. Ben gets up to check on her; if she pooped, she needs help wiping. Nora is already back in her room. He sticks his head in.
“I went potty and I wiped.”
“Did you go pee or poop?”
“I just peed,” she pauses, “I’m going to sing that song you like:
‘In a cavern,
In a canyon,
Excavating for a mine.
You were lost a and gone forever
Dreadful sorry, Clementine.'”
I was too tired for a proper story time on Wednesday night, so I asked Nora and Ben to tell me a story instead.
Here is Nora’s story:
I went to the beauty shop and then that one was closed and then I went to another beauty shop and then that one was open and then I took a nap and then I ate a squirrel.
Here is Ben’s story:
There was once a little mouse named Ralph and he had a motorcycle and he rode his motorcycle all the way to Astoria and back and then he had…Bubblebee Tuna.
Living with jokers like these, is it any wonder I get a bit tired? Happily, I can be tired and delighted at the same time.
I said I’d have another chapter review of NutureShock ready for today. I don’t. Here’s a delightful anecdote instead:
Nora has her first imaginary friend.
We were at the dinner table last night and Nora started referring to her friend, “Toni.”
“Who’s Toni?” I asked.
“Toni helps us keep mice out of the chicken coop,” Nora said.
“Oh. What does she look like?”
“I’ll show you on the computer when I’m done eating,” Nora said.
I had several windows open on my laptop, which Nora had seen me working on earlier. I’d been looking for sewing patterns for slippers.
I brought up the windows, one at a time. Nora pointed to an image at the top of the screen. “That’s Toni,” she said.
Her pointer finger tapped a photo of Martha Stewart.
That’s right, my three-year-old’s imaginary friend is a media mogul.
Now, if I could just get her to organize my closets.
